


Offer, Counteroffer

by remiges



Category: Women's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Demons, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 13:10:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13881531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remiges/pseuds/remiges
Summary: Hilary isn't a genius, but she's smart enough to know bad news when she sees it, even if it comes dressed in a suit and nice shoes.Especiallyif it comes dressed in a suit and nice shoes."No," she tells the demon. "I'm not selling you my soul, and there's nothing you can offer me for it, sorry."She thinks it shrugs, a rippling motion that seems to displace the very space it's standing in. "You'll come around," it says. "Trust me. I'll be here waiting."





	Offer, Counteroffer

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt: hilary knight and some sort of demon/faerie deal

"Hilary Knight? I've come to collect your soul." 

Hilary turns to find an inky presence standing behind her, person-shaped but lacking anything human. It arches an eyebrow, and she feels the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

"I didn't sell my soul," she tells it. She thinks she would remember doing so, especially to… _that_.

"Oh." It pulls out a notebook with a matte black cover, flicks through it, then tucks it away again. "I see. My mistake. I might as well stick with you, though. I think you're going to want what I can offer."

Hilary isn't a genius, but she's smart enough to know bad news when she sees it, even if it comes dressed in a suit and nice shoes. _Especially_ if it comes dressed in a suit and nice shoes.

"No," she tells it. "I'm not selling you my soul, and there's nothing you can offer me for it, sorry."

She thinks it shrugs, a rippling motion that seems to displace the very space it's standing in. "You'll come around," it says. "Trust me. I'll be here waiting."

And it is. It follows her like a shadow, flickering out to whatever dimension it came from for long stretches of time, but always coming back with the same offer: your greatest dream in return for your soul. A little price, really, in the larger scheme of things. Why not say yes?

Hilary never does. That doesn't seem to bother it, let alone deter it.

It follows her to every place she's ever called home. It follows her to the rink and to games and to the Office of Exorcisms. Follows when Hilary moves into an apartment by the railroad tracks, a one-bedroom where the walls shake when the trains roll through and the sound of the whistle wakes her up in the middle of the night.

"Soul?" the demon asks once when she can't go back to sleep after a freighter screams past at four in the morning. "I can make this all go away, you know. Whatever you want."

Hilary does sit-ups and pushups until her core aches and her arms shake, and doesn't bother to dignify the offer with a response.

***

Hilary plays and wins and loses and falls in and out of love, counts pennies and carpools with fiends, celebrates birthdays with cake and victory with champagne, and makes a life out of all the mundane instances in between.

The demon hovers on the edge of it all, watching with its endless eyes. It's stopped asking for her soul, but it feels more like it's biding its time instead of giving up. Whatever the reason, she revels in the silence. Even the trains are quiet at night now, her ears grown acclimated to their presence.

She can live like this, she thinks. Even if it never leaves, she can live like this.

***

In Sochi, she goes to find the demon with the silver medal still around her neck.

"Was that you?" she asks, voice shaking, eyes burning. The loss sits like a coal in her stomach, something that might just burn her through, burn her up. "Was that some sort of punishment, because I won't say yes?"

"I'm afraid that was all you," the demon says. It doesn't look surprised at her talking to it again after years of silence. "But there's always next time." It flicks dismissive fingers across its lapel. "You want gold, right? I'll trade you for it."

And Hilary, god help her, hesitates.

***

Hilary Knight sends her a twitter message one day. Same name, different gender. A children's book author and illustrator, nearing ninety.

Bureaucracy, she thinks. Hilary Knight or Hilary Knight, what does it really matter? Just a bit of paperwork, or whatever passes for paperwork with demons, and that's how she got into this mess. That's all that set the demon on her trail.

Hilary can't bring herself to respond, but she buys a copy of _Eloise_ just to have it. She vaguely remembers her father reading it to her as a child, but the memory is worn thin. She pays for two-day shipping and wonders if the other Hilary Knight still thinks his deal was worth it.

***

Pyeongchang. 2018. Gold or bust.

Hilary came close to taking the deal, she won't deny it. But people do a lot of crazy things in grief—rend clothing and break dishes and beg. That's just human nature, to try and barter away the pain, to make impossible promises and fuck the consequences.

The thing about Hilary, though, is that she's never known when to admit defeat. She's worked and clawed and smiled prettily and fought dirty for ever opportunity that was within reach, and then started in on the ones that weren't. She’s boycotted for the future and helped little girls realize their dreams can come true and worked and worked and worked.

Demon deal or not, certain victory or not, Hilary's getting that gold. She'll do it under her own steam and under her own power, her abilities _hers_. She won't do it alone, though. 

That's the beauty of having a team.

***

She doesn't know if the demon is out there, lingering in a corner of the screaming crowd or slinking near the half-boards while Rooney stops that last shot. If asked, Hilary would have to confess that she isn't even looking for it. Her eyes are on the puck, and then they're on the tumble of gloves tossed in the air, and then she's crushed under her teammates, everyone screaming and laughing and crying because they did it. They _did it_.

 _Gold_.

She doesn't know if the demon will be back, but even if it is, she doesn't think it will have anything left to trade.

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out with me on [tumblr!](https://enter-remiges.tumblr.com/)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Offer, Counteroffer](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14930099) by [frecklebombfic (frecklebomb)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frecklebomb/pseuds/frecklebombfic), [lotts (LottieAnna)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LottieAnna/pseuds/lotts), [silverandblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverandblue/pseuds/silverandblue)
  * [[podfic] Offer, Counteroffer](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15994523) by [silverandblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverandblue/pseuds/silverandblue)




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